


Intelligence

by tiny-freakin-head (Hobbitfing)



Category: Team Fortress 2
Genre: Existential Angst, Existential Crisis, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, No Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-15
Updated: 2017-11-15
Packaged: 2019-02-02 19:14:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,267
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12732594
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hobbitfing/pseuds/tiny-freakin-head
Summary: It doesn't take much to shatter Scout's worldview, but luckily it doesn't take much to repair it, either.





	Intelligence

Scout felt the impact of the bullets hitting just behind his feet, imagining each puff launching him just a little bit farther, making him just a little bit faster. He turned too sharply and a corner of the intel briefcase banged hard against his thigh—he’d probably bruise later, if he didn’t respawn before the end of the day—but he just laughed and kept running.

He was already in motion, throwing himself into a forward roll, before he consciously realized he’d seen the glint off an enemy Sniper’s rifle, and then he was on concrete before he knew it, pounding into his own team’s base. He dropped the briefcase, allowing himself to pant for a few breaths, bent over with his hands braced on his knees. “That…that was kinda close,” he admitted to himself, giving the intel a friendly kick.

The latch disengaged, and the briefcase snapped open.

Scout knelt, looking all around—and above, ’cause you just never knew around here—but RED’s intel room seemed temporarily deserted.

He’d never opened a briefcase before. Sure, of course he’d been curious, but he’d had literally everyone warn him _don’t open the briefcase_ , so he figured it must shoot some kinda dick-shrinking ray or something, because normally his teammates didn’t agree on _anything_.

But it was open.

He hadn’t opened it.

Cautiously reaching into the open briefcase, poised to e-fucking-vacuate if he saw anything start glowing and shit, Scout reached in and snagged the top piece of paper. Nothing clamped down on his hand. He glanced down—dick, same size as ever.

He rocked back on his haunches, thrilled to finally be examining the intel he always fought so hard for—had literally died for, over and over again.

The page was blank.

Scout flipped it over.

That side was blank too.

He grabbed a handful of papers from the briefcase. At first, he carefully went over each one, looking at each side, even holding them up to the light— _nothing_. Throwing paper in every direction, he pawed through the whole stack, looking for something, _anything_ , that would make stealing the briefcase worthwhile. One word. A single letter. His breathing had sped up again, and not from exertion—short, shallow breaths that made his chest heave and his hands shake.

Spy came into the room just in time to witness Scout’s first ever panic attack.

He raised an eyebrow, walking slowly over to the young man and kneeling next to him.

“Should I call Medic?” he asked. There didn’t seem to be anything wrong with Scout. A little blood on his already RED uniform, but not enough to really be worrisome. It probably wasn’t even Scout’s blood.

The open briefcase and blank pages all over the floor caught his eye. “You opened the briefcase,” he remarked.

Scout yelled— _not_ screamed—in surprise, heart racing. At least it was Spy, who actually could and did sneak up on people. He’d’ve felt pretty stupid if he’d gotten so distracted that he hadn’t heard someone like _Solly_ come in.

“I didn’t open it!” Scout insisted, his voice coming out high and shrill. He cleared his throat and swallowed before continuing. “I _didn’t_. I just…kicked it a little, and it popped open, and…” Should he lie, say the papers had all flown around the room by themselves? Spy was stupid, but he wasn’t _stupid._

“And you went through them,” Spy assumed. “And this upset you?” Scout had probably assumed the intel was, well, actual intel. The briefcases were nothing. The pages inside were blank –if indeed there were sheets of paper in there at all. Spy had opened many briefcases, and there was never anything of use in them. He’d already come to terms with this being a never ending and frankly stupid war, but Scout clearly hadn’t.

“I-I didn’t go _through_ them. I just…I grabbed a page, and then…and then… Spy, they’re all blank!” Scout flung out his arms, encompassing the paper scattered across the floor of the room. “All of it! All blank! N-Nothing on them. Zilch. Unless!” Scout bounded forward and pounced on the briefcase. There was one last piece of paper inside—blank—but Scout didn’t care about that anymore. The briefcase was lined with some kinda cheesy fake leather, and he tore it off. There was nothing, either on the briefcase itself or the lining. He tapped the case, bent almost double so his ear was pressed right against it. “Spy. Spy! You’re good at this kinda thing. Help me here. There’s gotta be…some kinda…secret compartment, right?”

Scout’s eyes were wild and too wide, and his hands were still shaking as they clutched the briefcase.

“Please calm down,” Spy’s voice was even, hoping that would help Scout calm himself. He gently took the briefcase away from Scout and began gathering the papers together, shuffling them back into some kind of order and tucking them back into the briefcase. “There’s no secret compartment, there’s no nothing. The intel is just a distraction, just something to fight for. Don’t worry about it, petit.”

“Th-that doesn’t make sense. Spy!” Scout’s expression demanded an explanation, a return to a world with rules. “M-maybe it’s just this one?” he asked, eyes almost pleading.

“This war is pointless Scout. It will go on for an eternity. We cannot die, there is no intel, every battle won gains us nothing, every battle lost loses us nothing. It’s merely a game. That we are paid very, very well for,” Spy put a hand on Scout’s shoulder, patting him. “Try not to think about it.”

Scout’s mouth turned down in an almost comical expression of utter misery. Suddenly his eyes flashed. “ _You_ did this!” He stood up, pulling away from Spy. “Y-yeah! This is _just_ the kinda dick move you’d pull. Where’s the real intel?”

Spy rolled his eyes. “Scout, please, if I was going to fuck with you I’d have put indecent photographs of your mother and the other Spy in there.”

“ _Spy!_ ” That startled a laugh out of Scout. “Ok, yeah, that does sound more like you. So…” Scout blinked, hard, voice trembling and lost. “So…what? What’s the point? Why do you and-and-and _Sniper_ stay if it’s just a game?”

“Money,” he shrugged. “A safe job, which as a mercenary is quite rare.”

Scout leaned against the wall, slid down, and covered his face with his hands. “This…this is just… _crazy_!” He laughed—a harsh, unpleasant sound.

Clearly honesty was not the way to go here. “Scout,” he sighed, as though reluctant, “this is a secret, you understand,” he started.

Peering out from between his fingers, Scout nodded, slowly.

“It’s invisible ink,” he lied.

“It’s…oh. Oh!” Scout leapt to his feet, quickly swiping at his cheeks. “Yeah! Spy, that makes total sense! Of _course_! They wouldn’t just leave it out for anyone of us to read!” He punched Spy playfully on the arm. “Why didn’t you just say that from the beginning, you dummy? Guess I should’ve figured that out. Jeez. …what was that other stuff you were saying?”

“Merely a cover. It’s a pity you were too clever for it,” Spy stroked the Scout’s ego a little, sure that would help soothe him. “Now get going, we’ve wasted too much time here already.”

“Yeah. Right. Right!” His usual grin back in place, Scout darted out of the room and back into battle, shouting the whole time.

Spy put the intel on the table, where it belonged, rolling his eyes. Scout was so gullible. But at least he wasn’t having an existential crisis anymore.

 


End file.
